


Lover

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sick Fic, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 06:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/





	Lover

Sansa actually considered becoming a doctor once, believe it or not.

She was a trust fund kid, she could have afforded med school. She could have gotten in if she wanted to. She could have been the top three in her class, if she wanted to. And she did, for awhile. She looked spectacular in the color white, and the name Dr. Sansa Stark has a nice ring to it. She often pictured her mother bringing it up in conversation, like the braggart she was. _Sorry to hear that Robert’s in rehab again, Lysa, but did you hear? My daughter is officially a pediatrician._

But Sansa Stark, MD was always a pipe dream. She knew she’s drive herself crazy working herself to the bone for six years for a white coat. And while Sansa wasn’t bad at science, it had enough of a math component to scare her straight. And? She was far too in love with books and writing to ever abandon the goal of working for Lannister publishing.

But god, if it meant Jon didn’t have to see her like this, than maybe all of those years would have been worth it.

  
“Are you alive in there?”

His voice is muffled from the spray of water and the wood of the door. That door is Sansa’s only saving grace. That door could make or break her relationship.

“Yes.” She tries to say it convincingly, but it comes out as a weak croak. It’s a lie. She’s barely even holding herself upright, leaning against the shower wall. “Go away, please.”

Sansa would be damned if she let him see her like this, which meant she was definitely going to hell.

It’s not like he could go away, because he lived there too. They both did. When Jon asked her to move in with him, Sansa was thinking about all the nights she could spend sleeping in his arms, and curled up on the sofa watching TV together, and lazy Saturday mornings. She wasn’t thinking of coming down with food poisoning and spending their first day as a domestic, normal couple, with her head in a toilet, and him holding her hair.

Here’s the thing—Sansa never gets sick. Ever. Not when Jon is around. Not in the three whole years they’ve been together. She’s not good at math, but what is that, something like 1,000 days? 1,095. For 1,905 days, Jon Snow has been in love with her, and she’s positive that it’s because he hasn’t seen her ugly with fever.

Until now.

“I’m coming in.” Jon declares, and before she can protest, the door cracks open, and then the curtain slides to the right.

He’s changed clothes. He was wearing a white shirt, that made her heart skip a beat. He rarely wore anything besides black, but he knew how much Sansa begged him to switch it up sometimes. She had repaid him by vomiting on the front of his shirt. Now he was back in black.

_How has not dumped me yet?_

While Jon is rarely a good sport about anything, he seemed to be alright with throw up on his shirt. Instead of disgust, what she sees on his face is concern and pity.

I’d rather be dumped, Sansa thinks glumly, letting her eyes fall shut.

  
“Fuck!” Jon lets a curse fly out of his mouth as he tests the spray of water. “Its nearly boiling, you little psycho! Are you trying to melt your skin off?”

_Little psycho._ Yesterday she had been baby. Was domestic life was already turning them into different people? Tears prickle in her eyes, and Sansa rub them away, feeling stupid. “I’m just so cold.”

Jon turns the water to a more lukewarm temperature, but when she looks back in his face, it’s soft. He grabs her shampoo. “Turn around. I’ve got you.”

She’s too tired to object otherwise.  
  
Sansa hears the squeak of a bottle and feel the cold of the shampoo in my hair. But Jon’s hands are warm, and gentle. He massages her head, scraping her scalp gently. She can’t even tell where the shampoo begins and the conditioning ends, she’s so lost in this limbo. Floating on a type of cloud 9. She had never been taken care of like this.

Not since she was a little kid, and that only lasted for so long. She had other siblings. Children much younger than her that needed their mothers attention, and that had been fine.

  
In contrast, Sansa is always a good sport, and it still surprises her that with Jon, she doesn’t have to be. He’s all hers.

He tells her that with each soft, caress on her body. He takes the soap, and with a washcloth rubs into her skin so softly. Sansa feels kisses dot on her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, and then her chest, where her heart is. Not like he’s trying to start something, but like he’s just trying to do what he can. After he’s done, he wraps her up in an oversized towel and pulls her close to his chest, damp and all.

Sansa forgets all about her red nose, and puffy eyes. She forgets all about the mascara and chapstick she had at least planned to put on so she could look somewhat presentable for him. Instead, she thinks about those 1,095 days as she nuzzles into his neck, eyes drooping. It feels like it’s been a lot longer.

Like she’s known him her whole life.

* * *

“You’re a nightmare.” Jon whispers softly into Sansa’s hair, later that night.

He had spent the first day in their new apartment together getting vomited on, helping Sansa vomit into containers, and cleaning up vomit. All around, just a lot of vomit.

After he had helped her shower, she settled down for awhile, but then her fever wasn’t going down. And she refused to go to a doctor. Jon had to practically waterboard her with mucinex to get it down her throat. And then when that didn’t work, he went to the drugstore and picked up some Tylenol, because Sansa refused to take anymore mucinex. And then she cried because she needed orange juice and she ran out. And on top of that she kept going through all of his tee shirts because she was sweating through them, and refused to wear any of her own pajamas because his clothes were just more comfortable.

  
Jon doesn’t really mind that part. She looks so cute in them.

“I told you.” Sansa whines into his neck. Her leg his hiked over his hips. She fits into his side like a puzzle piece. Like she was always meant to be there. She looks up at him with puffy blue eyes. “Are you gonna dump me now?”

“Never.” Jon kisses her forehead. She sighs contentedly, and angles her face for more. He obliges, kissing her nose, and chin, and her cheeks, until she laughs, and finally lays back down. He’d kiss her for a thousand years if she let him.

“You’re good at this.” She mutters.

“What?”

“Taking care of people.”

Not really. He had felt completely useless today. All he had done was hold her hair and help her shower. He wishes he could do more. He wishes he could take the pain away. “I guess.”

“Do you think that’s why most wedding vows have that “in sickness and health” line?” Sansa asks. She’s rambling again, courtesy of the fever delirium she was enduring. “You’ll know you’re ready to marry someone when they’ve thrown up all over your shirt?”

Jon laughs. That had definitely been trying, especially since he had to throw that shirt away, but he was glad to. It was Sansa’s favorite anyway, not his. “Maybe.”

“Well, I don’t need you to throw up all over me. I’ll marry you any day.”

Jon’s heart stutters.

“What?”

“Not any day.” Sansa mumbles. “Preferably a holiday. During the summer with nice weather. One of those days. I’ll marry you.”

_I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you._

“You want to marry me?”

“Not right this moment. I don’t feel well.” She grumbles. “Hold your horses.”

He could _not_ hold his horses.

  
Sansa just said she wanted to marry him. Sansa said she wanted to be with him, for the rest of their lives, in sickness in health, till death and all that bullshit. Sansa, who’s mother looked at him like she was a stray dog every time she was around them, Sansa, who stayed with him after all the times he pushed her away because he thought she could do better. That Sansa wanted to marry him, Jon, a forgotten kid that grew up in the system and clung to hockey because it was his life line.

She wanted to marry him. Little old him.

He can’t speak for a moment.

“And it cant be tomorrow either.” Sansa continues drowsily. “We have to wait until we can get a house, and we just moved into this place. It’s not gonna fit five kids.”

“Five kids?”

Kids. Not just one, five of them. That’s an entire family. When they grew up to have their own families, that would be five entire families. Five kids. Little baby Jon and Sansa’s just walking around.

“We are not calling them that,” Sansa snorts, and Jon didn’t even realize he had said the last part aloud. “I already have some of the names picked.”

He never realized he wanted a family—not until Sansa came and offered it to him.

There’s a tightening in his chest and throat. He can’t breathe for a moment. Had he always loved her this much? How did he keep it all contained?

“What are they?” He hears himself ask.

“I liked your Mom’s name. Lyanna. It’s pretty. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Lyanna. Like his mom.

Suddenly it’s all he wants.

“My mom will take it as a slight, so if we have another girl, we should go with Catelyn. Just to be safe.”

Catelyn. Another daughter. Would she hate him like her namesake? Despise him? Jon would do everything in his power to avoid that. He’d give both of them everything in the world.

“Cool.” Jon feels his eyes watering, and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Cool.” Sansa yawns, kissing his neck.  
He’s never felt more at home anywhere than he does beside her now.


End file.
